The Top Five Things You Should Not Say or Do to Those Who are Grieving

I am frequently asked by others what they should say or do when a friend has lost someone to death. I thought it was time to make a list of my top five things not to say or do. I hope this helps those who are really concerned about supporting the grieving.

First and foremost put the idea out of your head right now that you can say or do something to remove the pain and heal the grieving person. You can’t. Your vain attempts may do more harm than good. So often individuals puffed up with self-importance believe they know exactly what to say and that their words will be the magic pill to swallow and eliminate all the pain. They are wrong. There is nothing anyone on this planet can do to remove that sort of anguish. The sooner you swallow your pride and realize that, the better. Your presence means more than 1,000 words. Care for the grieving person’s needs. Take them dinner. Run errands for them. Offer to stay with them through the night. Prove your concern through your actions.

Do not question the grieving person’s faith/spirituality. This is not the time to demonstrate your theological prowess and educate the person as to why their thinking is flawed. You are not the Holy Spirit, so quit trying to do His job. Trust God to work through the grieving process, and if there comes a time in the person’s life when he/she seeks your advice, give it humbly and sparingly, remembering how fragile the person is.

Do not avoid the person or act like nothing has changed when you do see him/her. EVERYTHING has changed! That person’s world will never spin on the same axis. Their foundation has crumbled. A grieving person questions everything that was ever known, every belief, and suddenly nothing can be trusted because he/she has learned that in a millisecond the whole world can come crashing down around you. If ever your friendship was needed it is now! Grieving people need to know that you can be trusted and you will be consistent. They need you to acknowledge the loss and ask questions about how they are coping in the moment. They need to know you care. I know it’s awkward, but trust me it’s a hell of a lot more than “awkward” for the grieving person. So, get over yourself and be the friend you have always claimed to be.

Do not EVER say, “I know how you feel” or any variation of that statement because you do not know how any other person feels! I don’t care if you have experienced the exact same type of loss in the exact same way. That is where the similarities end. People grieve uniquely based on biological, emotional, relational, spiritual, and intellectual factors. It is offensive to grieving people when you try to equate whatever experience you have had to theirs. Then you make it about you and your loss. For now, just listen and try to understand admitting you never will. You are not God, so give up.

Finally, do not try to rush grief. Do not get impatient when six months to a year someone is still hurting over the death of his/her loved one. It may take up to five years or longer before a grieving person begins to heal from grief. Now, if after two years there is absolutely no change, then suggest some type of grief counseling or group therapy and offer to go along for moral support. However, do not make the person feel like there is something wrong because he/she needs a little help processing the pain. Encourage them to realize little steps they have made towards recovery and be patient.

Remember, your friend may never be the same. Loss changes you. However, your friend will find a way back to you and your relationship. It just takes time. Although the loss seems like an event far in the past for you, for your friend it may feel like yesterday. Someday he/she will learn how to smile again and find joy in living, but right now it takes every ounce of energy just to breathe and do the next thing.

A Spontaneous Decision

When I responded to my friend’s post on Facebook, I was joking. She was trying to sell concert tickets she had for a performance in Aspen, Colorado. She needed to sell them or find a date. “I’ll be your date!” was my reply.

An hour later, she texted me. “Were you serious…?

“I was tempted,” I responded. The next thing I knew I was booking a flight to leave in a little over a week to go to Aspen. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I told Gaile. “This is the most spontaneous, un-grownup thing I have done since I was in my 20s. What am I thinking?” But I did it. With my dear friend on the phone encouraging me, I clicked the mouse on, “purchase tickets,” and it was done.

I am not a “fly by the seat of your pants” type person. I think things through, logically and prayerfully. I am slow to respond and never make decisions on a dime. Woody learned years ago not to surprise me, but to give me at least a week of advance notice if he wanted to take me on a “surprise” trip. I need time to process things. I can’t just “pick up and go.” Yet, today without thinking through all the scenarios and planning everything out to the millisecond, I decided to take a trip half-way across the continent without my kids trusting that they will be okay in my absence and not making arrangements with friends to check in on them and micromanage every moment of the three days I’ll be gone. I did not let fear hold me back.

And to be honest, that’s what it’s all about. Being their only parent, I have been afraid to leave them since Woody died. I have been too worried about, “What if something happens to me? I can’t leave them alone. I can’t take any chances.” Everything—every decision in the past two years and three months—has been primarily for them and with their best interests in mind. This is the first thing I have done for me, and it is slightly terrifying.

This is where trust comes in. God has brought us this far, and I know He will continue to carry us. So, for the first time in a very long time, I am doing something completely out of character and am going to Aspen to spend a day listening to music with my best friend. I’m going to trust that God will care for my kids, but more importantly that He will care for me and bring me back home safely.

So…here’s to spontaneity and friends that push you out of your comfort zone; and a God who’s bigger than my fears.

Progress

“I am terrified. I am overwhelmed. How will we make our way through these stormy seas? I feel alone and insignificant. I am weak. I curl up into a fetal position, hugging my knees close to my chest and I cry. My tears sting my eyes. Salty drops stain my face and moisten my knees. What will happen to us? How can I continue on this route when the way is strewn with boulders? Why?

Lord, we need Your divine intervention. Where are you? I have felt you so near, and now Your presence seems so far away from me. Please give me hope. Give me something to believe. I am so afraid. I am wracked with fear. I cannot get my mind wrapped around all that I need to do.”

These words were written exactly one month ago today—eight days after Woody’s accident. Although God has eased much of the pain, there remains a dull ache deep within that causes me to wonder if I will ever experience life the same. Yet, progress has been made.

I am no longer fearful, but I am often doubtful. I cannot see what the future holds for me or the children. I pray for their continued growth and that they will find love and laughter, but I wonder at the same time if I will ever again laugh as carelessly as I did with Woody. He knew exactly what to say and do whenever I was blue. He brought the sunshine into my cloudiest days. He filled my heart with love and joy. And now, I cannot imagine a future that does not contain the human embodiment of God’s love to me.

Every day I take one more step into the future. Every day I learn a little more about how to live without my other half. And every day I am thankful for all I do have—my children, my family, my friends, and my faith. “Breathe,” I tell myself each morning. “Take a deep breath and know that God will give you another.” I will wait and see what healing another month brings. Already, I can see progress. I still cry; I still long for Woody. However, the tears do not sting as sharply as they did nor are they always present. Occasionally, I laugh and I am filled with gratitude for what I have not lost. Yes, it is still a little overwhelming, but I know now we will survive—one day at a time. 

Progress....